


Cyanoacrylate

by grosss



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bullets Era, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Van Days, bloodplay but not really, hypothermia risks, idiot stoners, stupid horny young men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grosss/pseuds/grosss
Summary: "Yeah, well, I wasn't masturbating onstage, idiot." Gerard protests, running his tongue over his cracked lips. The problem is, Frank isn't wrong- Gerard likes to think he has a shred of dignity, a little bit of tact, but he does love to put on a show, and he'd probably jump into the Atlantic without clothes on in the dead of winter if Frank so much as looked at him the right way."But you'd do it for me." It isn't a question, and Gerard just nods, suddenly hyper-aware of the knife again, clutched in Frank's hand next to his right ear.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	Cyanoacrylate

**Author's Note:**

> Some knifeplay, from my brain to your computer. I'd like to explore this particular kink more after I get this first one out of the way, we'll see what happens! Vaguely inspired by the beautiful, beautiful bullets-era fics by autoschediastic, although I'll never be able to capture the gross, grungey lust as well as she did! 
> 
> By my logic, Gerard being a nerd means that fantasy Gerard is into weird shit. It just makes sense. I would say that I don't make the rules, but I do, because this is fiction! This is where my disclaimer comes in: This is 100% a work of fiction, and the characters in this story are absolutely in no way meant to represent real people or real-life events, and I do not claim to have knowledge or the upper hand on real people's lives. I do this dumb shit with respect. 
> 
> Cyanoacrylate is the main ingredient in super glue, which you can apparently use to close cuts in lieu of stitches, although the thought of pouring glue into an injury makes me want to jump out of my skin. 
> 
> Have fun. peace

"That went well." Gerard fishes around in his jacket for his cigarettes, a little dismayed that he forgot to take them out before the show. They're a little crushed, but he lights one anyway, sticking another in Frank's mouth and lighting it for him, mostly as a joke, somewhat seriously, because he loves doing shit like that for him.  
"Yeah." Frank smiles in an uh-oh sort of way, something he does far too often for Gerard's liking. He's always one step ahead of him, not telling him what he's thinking, being secretive and calculated and shit. Frank thinks he's funny. Gerard hates it. 

"Yeah, what? It did go well, I thought their monitors were going to go, I thought we wouldn't get anyone to come out to this one, it's the middle of winter in fucking Jersey." Gerard exhales smoke in a sigh, wishing he'd stayed inside where it was warm. He grabs onto Frank's left hand, delighted that his fingers soothe his freezing ones. Frank flinches, opens his mouth to complain, but squeezes his hand anyway, trying to warm him up. 

Frank lets most of his cigarette go, stealing a sideways glance at Gerard. "Thought you told me you weren't going to do that anymore." 

Gerard scoffs. "It's /cold/, I want-" 

Frank cuts him off, entwining their fingers. He picks up his cigarette again, taking a short drag. "Thought you said you wouldn't act like such a whore onstage." 

His eyes are going all crinkly at the edges, though, and Gerard stands closer and leans his head down, resting it against Frank's own cold head. He wonders how he stays warm, without hardly any hair. "That's a lot to ask, you know. I'm doin' my best." He widens his eyes in mock innocence, even though Frank can't see. 

"Yeah? That why you keep sticking your hand down your pants in front of hundreds of people?" 

Gerard shivers a little at his words, can actually feel his heart rate increase by three beats per minute, but he considers. Like, actually thinks about it. 

"Because it's fun." Frank doesn't respond, so he continues. "And I think it's funny, and I think that music sometimes calls for...crudeness." All true, but Frank doesn't seem convinced. 

"And you like having all those people watch you grab yourself." Frank snakes an arm around his waist, a friendly gesture, but his voice has gone all low, and he isn't joking around anymore. 

"Yeah, maybe a little bit." Gerard smiles, feeling something warm and dangerous twist around in the pit of his stomach. He loves it when Frank teases him, shuts him up and makes his legs weak. He figures he deserves it, either way. Probably needs to be taken down a notch. 

"You want everyone to see you all fucked out onstage? Want everyone to look?" Frank only pulls him closer, fingers on his waist tucking themselves into the waistband of his jeans. 

And oh, fuck, Frank is good. He's too good, knows him too well, something else Gerard hates him for. 

Gerard nods, lets out a noise that was supposed to be a confirmation but comes out as a whine. "M-hm." He considers doing it again, right then and there, sliding his hand over his belly and down to the front of his shredded jeans just for Frank, as if he didn't get an even better display less than an hour ago, but before he can move Frank is reaching into his inside pocket and pulling what looks like a knife, an actual honest to god switchblade out and grins, says, "Dude- Gerard. Gerard, check this out." as casually as can be, and Gerard can only blink, because oh yeah, holy shit. 

Gerard says "Woah," tries to regain his composure, and tries again. "You know you don't, like. Need to carry that." Gerard babbles, ignoring the way his mouth is going all dry. "I don't even know if that's legal, like, if you're allowed to bring that into the venue, what the fuck, Frank-" He just stares at the thing, how the light is glinting off of it, Frank's steady fingers still wrapped around the handle, and fuck, he should not be so turned on. "You don't need to carry that, fucker." He says again. "I get it that we're from Jersey, but it's not, you know. Like that." 

Frank just laughs at him, like he always does. He's always laughing at him, usually good-naturedly, and Gerard wrinkles his nose. "My friend gave it to me a few years ago. It's cool, right?" 

"Please tell me you don't carry it." Gerard pleads again, shifting away and praying that Frank can't feel his pathetic half-boner forming. 

"Not until recently. It does come in handy on tour- I'm serious!" He protests against the look Gerard gives him, because it's all a bunch of bullshit, he knows what /recently/ means, because yeah, they've talked about this, more than once, in fact. 

Frank uses his thumb to tilt Gerard's chin up, knife in his left hand, Gerard really, really wishes he'd do that with the tip of the knife, just like in the movies, and must be reading Gerard's thoughts, because he quickly and firmly says "No," and Gerard huffs out a breath of air in the cold night. "I'm not stupid, not gonna land you in the hospital for this," but Gerard's stupid brain has already taken that notion and ran with it, and he thinks that ending up in the hospital with accidental lacerations to his neck because of a flirtation gone wrong would actually be pretty sexy, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

Frank gives him another look, lips sort of pursed like he's talking to a child, and sighs again. "I know what you're thinking, and once again, no." His fingers are twisting in Gerard's hair that's starting to curl around the nape of his neck and he strokes him there, despite his teasing. "I wouldn't visit you, anyway." 

So Frank tips his jaw up with his fingers and kisses him, more out of show than necessity since he has to stretch up to kiss him anyway, but his mouth is soft and hot and completely covers Gerard's own, tongue licking at his molars as if he's trying to prove something. He doesn't need to, he could totally overpower Gerard in a second if he tried. Gerard steps back and braces himself against the wall, grasping at Frank's hoodie for support. 

"You wanna show me what you were showing everyone else back there?" Frank's mouth is pressed against Gerard's left ear, warm and tickly in the frigid air. 

Gerard blinks in surprise, though he knew it was coming- knew something was coming, knew Frank had some twisted game in mind yet again. "Right now?" He looks down at Frank, screwing his face up. "Out here?" 

"Yeah, god, you think I'm gonna bother dragging your sorry ass inside for this?" Frank shakes his head, as if Gerard is the one being unreasonable. "C'mon. Everyone's in watching the headliner, dumbass. Besides, I thought you wanted people to see. Might as well risk it, right?" He solidifies his point with a quick squeeze to the front of Gerard's jeans, too abrupt and harsh to even feel good. He flinches, and Frank continues. "The gear's inside, we have an hour. Nobody's gonna come out here." 

"Yeah, well, I wasn't masturbating onstage, idiot." Gerard protests, running his tongue over his cracked lips. The problem is, Frank isn't wrong- Gerard likes to think he has a shred of dignity, a little bit of tact, but he does love to put on a show, and he'd probably jump into the Atlantic without clothes on in the dead of winter if Frank so much as looked at him the right way. 

"But you'd do it for me." It isn't a question, and Gerard just nods, suddenly hyper-aware of the knife again, clutched in Frank's hand next to his right ear. 

"Right?" Frank is giving him another one of his looks, all serious and big-eyed, and Gerard grins, wiggling against his hips a little. "Yeah. Might need some persuasion, though." He looks back at the knife, all shiny and pretty and clean, clutched in Frank's callused fingers on his left hand. He wants to lick it. He wants to lick it, carefully, even though the thought of cuts on his tongue makes him shudder in a not-so-sexy way. He swallows, leaning back a little against the wall, pulling his jacket tighter around himself against the cold brick. "What if I don't?" 

It kinda sucks, he thinks, because he really, really wants to get his dick out as soon as possible, but he'll be damned if he doesn't work for this. 

Frank doesn't answer, just /looks/ at him again, and goes straight for his jeans, tugging clothes out of the way to unhook his belt buckle. "There. I'm making it easy for you, G, come on," he kisses at him again, quick and sloppy down the side of his jaw, and yeah, Gerard wants to, so he shoves his hand inside his jeans for the second time that night, fighting to get his hand all the way inside his underwear, slumping against Frank as he does. 

"Like this?" He contorts himself against the wall, shoving his jeans and boxer briefs out of the way, wincing at the cold air on his lower half. "This what you wanted?" 

"Yeah." Frank grins, looking pleased with himself, watching Gerard's hand through drooping eyelids. "Come on, look at me." Frank grabs his chin, jerking it forward until Gerard's eyes are on him, wide and expectant. He moves his hand a little faster, tries to rut up against Frank. 

"You gonna use that thing, or just stand there?" Gerard widens his eyes again, mostly for effect. Frank looks hesitant, and Gerard rolls his eyes, taking his hand off of his dick, heaving a few breaths in the cold. "Frank, please, dude, come on, you said we would." He licks his lips again. 

Technically it had been mostly Gerard's idea, mostly him going on and on about it the other week, both of them high as shit in the back of the van. A hazy game, Frank's feet propped up on Gerard's knees, Gerard offering between stoned giggles that being held at knifepoint would be "kinda hot", that he wouldn't be opposed to a few nicks, either. He'd toyed with the idea since college, a secretive young adult with a propensity for gore and shock rock, and had the opportunity now, crammed into a van with one of the hottest dudes on this side of the states, and he wasn't about to pass it up. 

"Frank," he swallows, trying to keep eye contact as his hand becomes more slick. "You said you wanted to see," He leans against the wall, plays it up a bit despite his impatience. "Cmon."  
"This what you wanted when you were grabbing yourself onstage back there?" Frank rests his free hand on top of Gerard's, guiding his movements, locking their fingers together. 

Gerard goes for literal, feels like fucking with him, and says "Not exactly- god /dammit/ -" as Frank presses a thumb against the pulse point on his neck, "-But this is better." 

He grips the fraying edge of Frank's hoodie with his right hand, feeling warmer now, leaning his head back against the wall of the building, feeling the vibrations of the headliner's set shake the back of his skull. He's still got a buzz going from the nicotine and the show, which was great, by the way, and his only gripe is the sweat drying on his sides in the freezing Jersey night air, and that Frank is taking his sweet fucking time at whatever torture he's got planned. If Frank had any hair, Gerard would yank on it right back, just because he's feeling frustrated and impatient and he's so going to take back his blowjob-in-the-van offer if Frank doesn't do something soon. "What- mmh, what did I tell you last week?" Gerard asks into his mouth, already leaking over his own cold fingers. He kisses Frank, soft and slow, wincing as teeth pull on his lower lip. Gerard knows exactly what he'd said, despite the weed, but he wants to hear Frank say it, wants his own fucked fantasies spat back at him with the kind of vitriol only Frank is capable of. 

He hears and feels Frank laugh against his lips, feels him pull away a little to talk. "You said you wanted to be held up with this thing," Frank moves his left hand then, positioning the knife absurdly close to Gerard's neck once more, and oh, he thinks. Oh yeah. Never mind morals, it's not like he hasn't heard of worse- and he has, he went to art school, for christssake- but a little pain and a little blood wouldn't be so bad, he thinks. 

"-and you said you wanted me to use it," Frank yanks at the collar of his ratty t-shirt, gently- if that's possible- dragging the edge of the knife over Gerard's chest. A thin, pin-straight line of red forms, tiny pricks of blood rising to the surface. It's small, small enough to not be too worrisome, but Gerard flinches on instinct, says "ow," and then "oh, shit," gritting his teeth and squeezing his dick with cold, stiff fingers. He tugs on his t-shirt, wanting it off of him so Frank can get at more of his chest and hears the worn fabric stretch as he yanks on it, and Frank's looking at him like he's insane but also really, really hot, and maybe he is. Maybe it's both. 

Gerard waits, uses all of his strength and willpower to not plead with him for another, because he does draw the line somewhere and isn't a completely needy bastard, really- but he wants it, wants it more than he wanted to kiss Frank the first time he saw him onstage. Frank grins like he's having the time of his life, still in awe but thoroughly enjoying himself, and presses the pad of his thumb straight into the cut, grinds it in, radiating pain through Gerard's chest. His knees feel weak and he only manages a strangled "Oh, fuck, yeah," mouth hanging open because he really, really hopes that Frank will bring his thumb to his lips, holy shit- 

But Frank doesn't, only wipes his thumb across Gerard's chest, smearing the red into his skin, says, "Yeah, there we go," and glances down to where Gerard is hopelessly fucking his own hand. Frank wordlessly tugs at his shirt again, giving him a little kiss before slicing a neat little line into his right shoulder. It fucking burns but Gerard is coming despite it all, because of it all, biting down on his lips as if anyone can hear them over the noise inside, as if anyone is in the parking lot of the shop across the street. He shivers, partly from the cold and partly from his tensed-up muscles, grabbing at any part of Frank he can, pulling him up close as he comes down. Frank says something about band-aids and he hums in agreement, tucking his nose into Frank's shoulder. He smells like some kind of nice deodorant and sweat and smoke and Gerard just wants to sleep, even if it's in the van. Maybe Frank will drive him home. 

"Hey." Frank is pulling back out of the embrace, lifting Gerard's head out of the crook of his neck to look at him. Gerard just wants a cigarette, wants to go home, but tries to focus. "Hey, come on. Come here," Frank tugs on his hand, leading him back through the heavy back door. It falls shut behind them and Gerard squints in the bright lights of the hallway, nose and fingers tingling as the warm, stuffy air inside hits him. Frank pulls him into a bathroom and sits him down on the closed toilet. "Take off your shirt, baby." He runs his fingers over the top of Gerard's head. Gerard sighs and does, even though he'd rather deal with this later, peeling off his layers and balling them up onto a pile on the floor. He hears water running and shivers a little, glancing down at the small cuts on his chest, trying to stop his lower lip from quivering because yeah, now that he isn't so turned on, it fucking stings. Frank comes over with a wet piece of toilet paper and wipes at him, gives him two band aids from his pocket- the stash he always keeps, the boy will never learn to not play his guitar like he's fighting with it- and lets Gerard put them on himself, knowing he'll protest otherwise. Gerard grabs for Frank's hand again, resting his head against the side of his arm, and briefly considers falling asleep in the venue bathroom.


End file.
